


Tangled Legs and Twisted Heartstrings

by whiskygalore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Come-play, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Public Sex, Voyeurism, toppy Sam, underage - teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7639315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskygalore/pseuds/whiskygalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spn kink bingo fills. Sam and Dean non-hunting AU 'verse. From 'first kiss' to 'anal hooks' and 'cock cages'; it's going to be an interesting journey!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> These are my quick and dirty fills for the Spn kink bingo. They aren't going to be posted in chronological order, but they will all, hopefully, belong in the same 'verse. The main pairing/focus is Sam/Dean --yes, I'm popping my Sam/Dean cherry-- but, with the nature of the challenge and my varied prompts, there are going to be other pairings. 
> 
> I will add tags as I post.

"Sam, c'mon man, this is fucked up."

It is fucked up. Sam's not oblivious or an idiot. As his SAT scores prove, he's pretty goddamn intelligent thank you very much. He's perfectly aware that making out with his brother in the bed of his ancient Chevy pickup is high on the list of things normal people would disapprove of. Well, trying to make out with his brother; right now Dean is acting like a member of the freaking purity club. 

Sam's not a dick, really he's not; he'd rather shoot himself in the face than do anything to hurt Dean. If he wasn't one hundred percent sure that Dean wanted this just as desperately as he did, Sam would stop right now, find a way to laugh the whole thing off. But Dean does want it. Want Sam. And even though Dean is putting up more of a fight than Sam expected it's doing nothing to convince him otherwise.

Sam knows Dean better than Dean knows himself. Knows everything there is to know about his big brother, inside and out; from his deceptively fragile heart to his deliberately annoying shit-eating smirk; from the freckles scattered across his face that multiply like wildfire in the sun to the constantly changing shades of his glass-green eyes.

"Just let me up and we'll forget all about this. Put it down to the cheap tequila, huh?".

“I haven’t had anything to drink, Dean,” Sam says, settling his weight more firmly on top of his brother, his body covering Dean's from ankles to shoulders. He twists his fingers in the sweat damp spikes of Dean's hair dragging his head back at angle that makes Dean gasp. With a satisfied sigh, Sam buries his nose in the curve of his brother's throat, inhales the heady scent of a hard day's work and a humid night's lazy-legged attempt to forget about it.

"Sam, please. Please, think about what you're doing."

Sam licks a path along the sharp outline of Dean's jaw in response. Dean's Adam’s apple jack-rabbit jumps in his throat, his pulse fluttering humming-bird quick under his skin. 

"I have thought about it, Dean. Thought about it for years. Know you have too."

"No!" Dean's eyes widen, denial thick on his tongue. Sam brushes it aside as easily as he licks away the glistening drop of sweat rolling down his brother's neck.

"I know you've seen me watching. Watching other people touch you, taste you. Well, now it's my turn."

Dean bucks and twists again, trying to dislodge him, but Sam's the little brother in nothing more than name these days. And Dean's spent the past ten years determinedly teaching him how to look after himself, how to fight. Taught Sam to fight dirty if he has to. 

All Dean's struggling does is leave them both breathless and flushed. And in more or less the same position. Only now, despite Dean's blushing-virgin protestations, Sam can feel the hard line of his brother's erection burning hot and indisputably willing against the inside of Sam's thigh. 

Sam rocks down against him, and grins when Dean's eyes flutter shut, a reluctant moan spilling from his lips. 

"Sam," Dean chokes out, strained and close to broken, "We can't. You don't want this. You...you're just a kid, just a--"

"I'm seventeen." Sam snaps. "I'm not a kid. I haven't been a kid in years."

"But--"

"No, Dean." Sam grinds his hips against his brother's, ducks his head down and nips the fleshy lobe of his ear, hard enough to make Dean flinch. "Listen to me. I love you. I fucking love you. In ways that are wrong and twisted and so far from normal that it probably makes me a monster. But I don't care. Because I know, _I know_ you feel the same way."

Dean sobs. Sam feels it shudder through him. 

"I've wanted you since I was old enough to jerk off. Since before then even. But I knew you wouldn't believe me, wouldn't lay a finger on me until I was old enough and big enough to convince you that it's what _I_ wanted."

And Sam is big enough now; six two, broad shouldered and stronger than men twice his age. He’s the golden boy of the high school swim-team, and ever since he turned sixteen and hit a serious growth spurt he's been working out in the school gym every chance he can, determined to grow into his lanky frame. And the grueling hours spent sweating off his balls are more than worth it now he's got Dean pinned and squirming below him. 

"You've slutted about for long enough, Dean. Thrown yourself at people that weren't good enough for you. That treated you like nothing more than a pretty little whore. No more, understand? You're mine now. Just mine."

Sam emphasizes his words with a swivel of his hips, a bruising clench of his fingers into Dean's arm, and a sharp bite into the delicate curve of Dean's neck. 

Dean jerks, his muscles bunching and flexing for a fight, before all of a sudden his eyes seek out Sam’s. For a heart-stopping moment it feels as though Dean can see right through him, right into the depth of his soul. And then all the tension drains from Dean’s body and he whispers on a strained exhale, "Sammy, please."

It might be a final plea for Sam to stop. But all Sam hears in his brother's voice is devotion. Love.

And finally after years of dreaming and months of planning, Sam claims what's his. His mouth finding his brother's. His tongue sweeping across forbidden plump flesh, seeking permission, maybe absolution, until finally Dean's silken lips part, and Sam tastes his brother for the very first time. 


	2. Voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage!Dean/Benny and young voyeur Sam.

Sam doesn't know what time it is when he's woken by a familiar irritating noise; the unmistakable creak of the uneven floor board in-between his and Dean's beds. It's certainly late enough that no-one should be wandering into their room. It can't be Dean. He knows where to step to avoid the rotten wood, and he finds the noise just as grating as Sam does by now. Five years they've been at Sonny's, two in this room that's not much more than an oversized closet. And while he's grateful that Sonny decided to give his only long term residents some much-prized privacy, Sam really wishes that Sonny would replace the freaking floorboard.

If Sam wasn't still more asleep than awake he'd tell whoever it is to get lost. Instead he closes his eyes and snuggles deeper under the covers. Dean will tell whoever it is to fuck off anyway.

Except he doesn't. The snap of Dean's pissed curses never comes. Just a barely audible whispering that crawls like a bug into Sam's ears. 

"Shit, man I told you to watch out for the floorboard."

"You could have come to my room if you were so goddamned worried." And that's Benny, the newest member of Sonny's collection of misfits, waifs and strays; Sam would recognize the boy's deep Louisiana lilt anywhere. 

"The room you share with four other kids?" Dean hisses. "Yeah, that makes sense. Get the fuck in here before you wake up Sammy."

"You sure he's asleep?" 

"Yeah, kid's wiped out. He had swim practice before school today and then Sonny had him chasing down those stupid chickens that made a run for it. Sammy'll sleep through a fucking tornado warning when he's this tired."

This is when Sam should speak up. Tell the other boys he's awake and shut the hell up already. He's not entirely sure why he doesn't. 

Instead, he lies frozen and silent, listening to the covers rustling and the huff of Dean's mattress shifting. And even though he can't quite believe it, he knows that Benny has crawled into bed alongside Dean. Sam tries to keep his breathing even, but it's not easy, not with the oil-slick of confusion that’s seeping into his veins.

"You're so goddamn pretty." There’s nothing but awe and honesty in Benny’s words. And although Sam totally agrees with him, he cringes and waits for the inevitable fallout.

"Shut the fuck up, Benny!" 

Dean hates being called pretty. Too many skeevy guys in motels and truck-stops calling him pretty boy for it to be anything but a skin-crawling insult. If Dad hadn't disappeared when he had, leaving his boys in the not-so tender loving care of the local child-services department, Sam doesn't know how long Dean would have been able to dodge the attentions of some of the more insistent scumbags. By the time Dean turned ten, Dad had broken more than one asshole's nose for trying to do more than look. But Dad couldn't always be there. Obviously.

"Well, sugar, why don't you shut me up?" Benny asks, unperturbed by Dean’s snarl, a challenge issued in his teasing tone. And then Sam hears the distinct sound of kissing. The sound of his sixteen year old brother kissing another boy. 

Sam's eyes fly open. He can't help it. There's enough moonlight filtering through the cheap worn curtains for him to see Benny lying on top of Dean, Dean's head tilted up, his eyes closed and lips pressed against the older boy's.

Sam almost gasps out loud. He has to bite his bottom lip between his teeth to stop himself.

Dean only kisses girls. His first kiss was with Carrie Franklin when he was fourteen. Sam heard all about it in gruesome detail. Dean likes to share. Over share actually. Sam's brain is scarred with the details of his brother's sexual exploits. For example, Sam knows that Sara Woods kisses with too much tongue, that Linsey Appleton let Dean touch her boobs under her bra, and that Missy Granger sucked a mess of hickeys into Dean's neck that got him grounded for a week. And he knows how close Dean came to getting a hand-job from Tracey Richards before her daddy caught them getting hot and heavy in the backseat of his station wagon. Although, everyone knows about that one because her enraged daddy dragged Dean home by his ear and made sure that Sonny dealt with the matter. Dean's still grounded.

Maybe that's why he's turned his attention to boys. Maybe he's just playing around with Benny because he's bored. Maybe he doesn't really like...

"Hell, Dean, you're so fucking wet. Your shorts are soaked through. Like a goddamn girl."

"Fuck you, asshole."

"Aw, don't be like that, cher. It's hot. Damn hot. Love how much your cock leaks for me. Want me to lick it up?"

The groan that comes from Dean is part embarrassment, part need.

Sam should look away now. Close his eyes. He can't. Only wishes he could see more. He can make out Benny sliding down below the covers, Dean's shorts dropping to the floor. And then Dean slapping his hand over his mouth, muffling his own moans.

The confusion seeping into Sam’s bloodstream spreads out across his body, twists in his guts and trickles down his spine; a hot wave of unease that washes through him. Makes his pajamas cling uncomfortably to his skin. Makes his dick grow hard between his legs.

It's far from the first hard-on that Sam's gotten, but puberty is still a new adventure and Sam's control over his body is non-existent. His dick has a mind of its own. And apparently it appreciates the choked off moans escaping from behind his brother's hand.

Slowly, quietly, Sam's own hand slides under the bedcovers, creeps down inside his sleep pants, cups his erection. His eyes never leave his brother's bed. 

"Benny. Benny!" Dean's whisper is louder than he realizes. Desperate.

"What's wrong?" Benny asks, crawling out from under the covers. Sam thinks he hears him lick his lips, sucking the taste of Dean into his mouth.

"Nothing. Nothing. Fuck, just don't want to come yet."

Benny laughs, but it's not unkind, not mocking. "It's not exactly the time or place for me to fuck you, Dean. Your little brother's sleeping three feet away."

Sam squeezes his dick hard enough to bring tears to his eyes when Benny mentions his name. And fuck, has Dean let Benny fuck him? Does he want Benny to fuck him? Like, in the ass? Fuck, that's, thats-- Sam's cock spurts pre-come in a way it's never done before. 

"Shut up, Benny." Dean hisses. "I don't want you to fuck me. Not here."

"What do you want then? Huh? Want to climb on top and rub yourself off on me? Want to wrap those pretty lips around my dick?"

Benny grunts and Sam knows that's Dean's punched him. From what he could make out it was just in the shoulder though. Benny's lucky. 

"I told you not to call me pretty."

"Sorry, sugar." Benny says, swiping his thumb across Dean's lips. "But you sure do have the p..the most gorgeous lips I've ever seen."

"Well they're not goin’ anywhere near your dick tonight, asshole."

Benny laughs, "Okay, okay. So tell me; what do you want, baby?"

Sam's eyes almost pop out of his head when Dean doesn't punch Benny again in response to the 'baby', but there's only silence. A stillness that settles uncertainly over the room while Benny looks down at Dean and waits for him to answer.

"I want...I want..."

Sam isn't surprised at Dean's choked hesitation. Unlike Sam, asking for something he wants doesn't come naturally to Dean. Sam's sure it's Dad's fault or maybe it was the couple of foster homes they found themselves in before they wound up at Sonny's, but somewhere along the way, Dean decided that what he wanted was irrelevant. That it was wicked to ask for anything for himself. That as long as Sam had everything he needed that was enough. 

Unless it's pie. Dean will always ask for the last slice of pie now.

"What, Dean?" Benny's voice dips even lower than normal and Sam strains to hear. "What do you want?"

"I want--fuckin goddamn sonofabitch,” Dean cusses with a frustrated huff before spitting out rapid-fire, “I want to feel you on top of me."

"You like to be on the bottom, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean admits. And Sam swears he can feel the heat in his brother's cheeks from here. "Yeah, I do."

"What else do you like, Dean, huh? Like to feel me pinning you down? Like me to be the one in control?"

"Uh," Dean's strangled groan vibrates through Sam's bones. 

"Sweet Jesus, you don't even know how perfect you are, do you? A fucking walking temptation. Turn over darlin’, on to your belly, nice and quiet."

Sam can't see much of what's happening, other than the rough shape of Benny draped over his brother's back. But he can hear the bed springs creaking, and the sheets rustling. He can hear Dean's whimpers and Benny's grunts. And he can feel the temperature climbing. The scent of sex permeating the tiny room until Sam's almost drowning in it.

Benny keeps up a steady commentary like he's getting paid for it. Like he knows someone is listening. "Aw, sugar, yeah...fucking perfect. You like that? Like the feel of my big cock rubbing against your hole? Wish I could fuck you right now, Dean. Right here. Wish I could slick myself up and stuff my dick inside your tight little ass."

Sam starts jerking himself off without conscious thought. His hand moving faster with every dirty word that Benny unleashes.

"Holy mother of god. Gonna come, Dean. Gonna come all over your ass. You gonna blow, Dean? Gonna hump that bed until you come? Don't even need my hand do you? Just me pinning you down and riding your ass."

Sam's orgasm hits him so hard and unexpectedly it almost blinds him; sparks of light blazing behind his eyes. He comes with a bitten-off whimper that he prays no-one hears. Luckily Benny and Dean seem to come around the same time. Benny's porn soundtrack devolves into a crescendo of grunts and Dean buries a high-pitched whine into his pillow just as the bed springs creak real loud one last time. 

Sam lies perfectly still; eyes clenched shut, and a sticky mess dripping between his fingers. By the time he hears Benny slip from Dean's bed and out of the room --avoiding the uneven floorboard this time-- his breathing has evened out and Dean shouldn't suspect that Sam's been anything but sound asleep the whole night.

And, if the following morning Dean thinks it an odd coincidence that Sam needs to change his bedding after apparently experiencing his first wet-dream, he doesn’t show any sign of it. Just gently teases Sam, ruffles his hair and changes his own bedding too so none of the other boys comment.

Sam has never loved his big brother more.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be 'public sex'.


	3. Public Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added warnings - Public sex (no shock there), dom/sub relationship,

 

Everyone knows them; The Winchester Boys. They're both wearing masks, beautiful handmade leather masks, but still everyone in the club knows exactly who they are. 

Sam's impressive height and build –and Dean would say his girly hair– is a bit of give-away. And, although he would no doubt punch Sam in the face for saying so, a mask doesn't do much to disguise Dean's beauty, his sinful lips, his sharp green eyes. Or his distinctive bow-legged gait.

Maybe if Sam didn't own the club they'd be slightly less conspicuous. But he does, this one and two others in the city, along with a handful of bars, restaurants, gyms and oddly enough an organic foods store. He's still not sure quite how that one happened. They do, he concedes, stock the most delicious honey that Sam's ever licked from Dean's lips.

This club though, this club is Sam's hidden gem. Hundreds of people walk past it every day without pausing to wonder what's tucked behind the anonymous red-bricked exterior. There's not a sign on the building, or a name above the security door. There's zero chance of anyone unsuspecting wandering in by mistake. Bank statements, references and a non-disclosure contract signed in triplicate are required to give you an outside chance of a membership card. And without a membership card the door remains firmly locked. Despite that, it's one of Sam's most popular, and profitable, businesses. It's also quite possibly Sam's favorite place in the world. Well, apart from his and Dean's townhouse. And maybe the backseat of Dean's Impala. 

"Boss?" 

Sam's attention snaps back to the bartender. 

"You want me to tell Casey to set up one of the rooms for you?"

"No thanks, Pamela, not tonight. Everything okay? No trouble?" Sam asks looking around, not that he expects there to be a problem, but he wants to be sure nothing’s going to distract him for the next couple of hours.

"There was an incident with a newbie touching something he shouldn't have but we got it smoothed out without bloodshed. Oh, and Alastair tried to get in again."

Dean tenses at Sam's side, the loose slant of his shoulders disappearing, freckles popping unhappily across straining muscle. Sam presses his palm against the small of his back, rubs his thumb in soothing arcs across Dean's warm skin.

"What happened?"

"Nothing really. Tiny called Mr. Crowley down to the door when he wouldn't leave, and he dealt with it, sent Alastair packing."

"Just like that?" Sam quirks an eyebrow doubtfully. Alastair's a nasty piece of work. And persistent.

Pamela shrugs. "Pretty much. Other than a few threats and Crowley reminding Alastair yet again of our non-scumbag policy."

Sam nods and files away the information in his head to deal with later. He had hoped that after they banned Alastair the bastard would slink back to whatever sewer he'd crawled out of, but it looks like they might have to come up with a more permanent solution to get rid of the lowlife piece of scum. Later though, Sam's got more pleasant things to contemplate tonight.

"Okay, we're gonna go play for a while. I don’t want disturbed, not unless the world's ending."

"Sure thing, boss." Pamela rakes a hot gaze across Sam's naked chest before lingering on Dean's body, a leer very nearly tugging at her lips. Sam manages to swallow down a warning growl but only because his collar is buckled around Dean’s throat; a visible reminder that Dean is his, and only his, no-matter how many other people lust after him.

A path opens up for Sam as he strides through the club, Dean following close on his heels, head held high, unafraid to meet anyone's eyes. He might wear a collar but there's no mistaking the danger flexing in Dean's lithe frame, the predator lurking just below his skin. 

The club is busy for a weekday night. Most of the sofas are taken; people in varying degrees of undress sprawled across them. Nearly every piece of equipment is in use too. Gadreel is fucking little Samandriel open with a beast of a dildo at the St. Andrew's cross, and over at the spanking horse Donna Hanscum's stunning ass is already a furious shade of red; Commissioner Mills is a pro with the paddle. There's also a crowd of guys standing around the sling, most of them with their dicks in their hands, a good indicator that someone is having fun.

Sam doesn't often show Dean off on the public floor. He usually prefers taking his brother apart in the privacy of one of the playrooms. But sometimes Dean likes an audience, and sometimes Sam likes to give him one. 

Sam had vaguely planned to strap Dean to the St. Andrew's cross tonight, use his belt to lay claim to his brother's pale flesh before fucking him loose in front of anyone that wanted to watch. But Gadreel and Samandriel are putting on quite a show, and although they would take their fun elsewhere if Sam asked them to, it would hardly be polite. Sam might own the club but he should still be seen to follow the house rules. 

It's not as though he can't think of anything else to do with his mostly naked brother.

Dean almost walks into the back of Sam's legs when he comes to a sudden halt on a clean looking patch of floor near the center of the room. He recovers quickly, takes a step backwards, then stands perfectly still, shoulders back and hands relaxed by his sides. Sam turns around and studies him carefully. Dean always tries to keep his expression blank behind his mask, before they start to play at least, but Sam can see the tell-tale signs of his brother's emotions; the flush climbing up his throat, the tick in his jaw. Dean has always read like a picture-book to Sam. 

Now, dressed only in his combat boots –because shoes are an absolute necessity on the public floor– his leather collar and a pair of sheer white jersey shorts that cling to his ass and do nothing to hide his thickening erection, Dean's excitement is obvious. Sam doesn't doubt that his own is too.

"Hands behind your back," Sam instructs. Dean complies without question, and then stands docile as Sam stalks behind him; his finger's trailing around Dean's torso, over the barely-there pudge of his belly, up the silvery remains of a scar that ripples across his ribs, then down towards his gorgeously plump ass. "So fucking beautiful," Sam murmurs as he pulls a zip tie from his pocket and wraps it around his brother's wrists, securing them at the small of his back. He takes a moment to admire the long sweep of Dean's spine, the stretch of freckled skin across his shoulders, before strolling back to face him.

"Knees."

Dean swallows hard, and stares up at him for a pause that drags on long enough to almost make Sam start to second guess himself, to think he might have read Dean's signals wrong for once, but then, with grace a man his size shouldn't possess, Dean folds to his knees, eyes trained to Sam's the whole time. Sam can't help the grin that steals across his face. He'll never _not_ feel a hot flare of excitement at watching his older brother bend to his will. 

Sam reaches down and brushes his thumb across the plump curve of Dean's bottom lip. Dean blows out an unsteady breath in response, his gaze straying down toward the bulge evident in Sam's jeans. 

"You want it?" Sam's thumb catches the center of Dean's lip, dragging it downwards. "Want to let everyone see what these lips of yours can do? These pretty cock-sucking lips?"

Dean's nostrils flare and his eyes flash and Sam knows if he was anyone else he'd be picking his bloodied teeth up from the floor around now. But Dean simply blinks lazily beneath his mask and remains absolutely obediently still. The rush of power goes straight to Sam's dick.

"Tell me," he says, tracing the front of his leather collar coiled around Dean's throat. "Tell me what you want. You want to suck my dick?"

It's cruel really, making Dean ask for it. Even years since they first started doing this, whatever _this_ is, Dean hates having to beg. But Sam _wants_ to hear it. Needs to hear that Dean wants this just as badly as Sam does. And Sam would be lying if he said watching his brother's skin flush with embarrassment wasn't fun. 

“I want–“ Dean says, his voice a low rumble, too quiet for Sam to hear clearly over the thrum of background noise.

"Louder, Dean. I can't hear you."

Dean narrows his eyes and grinds the words out, reluctance dripping disdainfully from every syllable. "I want to suck your dick."

Sam tilts his head, his lips twisting into something that isn't a smile. "Now that wasn't very polite was it? Why don't you try again? Unless of course you want to kneel here and watch me find someone else who does know how to ask nicely."

"Please," Dean blurts out, the empty threat as usual pushing him past the humiliation. "Please, please let me suck your dick."

"There," Sam grins. "That wasn't so bad now was it?"

Dean, wanting so desperately to be good, tries not glower, and Sam tries not to laugh when he fails. Some of the Dom’s here would doubtless be unimpressed by Dean's attitude. By a sub who needs pushed into behaving and who does it so sullenly on occasion. But Sam doesn't want a perfect sub. He doesn't want a submissive at all, truth be told. He wants his truculent, scowling, cocky, brother. He wants Dean fighting every step of the way until he slides into that hazy headspace that allows him to let Sam take care of him for a change. He lives for the times that Dean keens and whimpers at every touch, when he basks in Sam's attention and begs without shame for what he wants, then curls up afterwards, sated and relaxed, his head pillowed on Sam's chest and their legs tangled together just as tightly as their twisted heartstrings. 

"You're perfect." Sam can't help but say. Dean doesn't even acknowledge the words, too focused on watching Sam pop open the fly of his jeans, freeing his dick; it's already steel hard and purple-headed, anticipation rushing like Viagra through Sam's veins. He doesn't intend on depriving Dean, or himself, for much longer.

He wraps his fingers loosely around his erection, makes a show of jacking himself leisurely, before tracing the tip of his dick over Dean's parted lips. Dean doesn't push, doesn't try to sneak his tongue out to taste before Sam gives him permission, even though Sam can see saliva gathering at the corners of his lips and a damp spot appearing at the front of his shorts. 

"So good, baby." Sam says, cupping Dean's jaw with one hand, holding him steady while he teases them both just a little more. "You're being so good for me."

There's a crowd gathering around them, grabbing the opportunity to see Dean down on his knees. Sam doesn't spare them a flicker of his attention. Instead, without warning, he hooks his thumbs past his brother's teeth and pries his mouth wide open, past the point of comfort.

"I’m going to fuck your face,” he says, feeding his cock into Dean's mouth. "And you're gonna kneel there and take it. Show everyone what an amazing cocksucker you are."

Dean does take it. He doesn't have much option. Not with the way Sam's cock is shoving into his mouth and his hand is cradling the back of Dean’s head, not allowing him to back away. Sam doesn't start off easy, sets a brutal pace right from the second his hard length slides into the heat of Dean's mouth. Even when tears pool in Dean's eyes, and choked off grunts spill around Sam's dick, he doesn't slow his pace. "Look at you. You love this don't you? Love showing off what a slut you are for cock. For my cock."

Sam thrusts his hips hard, his dick forcing its way deep down Dean's throat, past his gag reflex. Sam's not exaggerating about Dean being an amazing cocksucker. He always gives incredible head, sucks Sam's dick like it's his mission in life and enjoys every sloppy second of it. But there's something about just making him take it, not giving him the chance to show off his considerable skills, that drives them both close to the edge in no time at all. 

"Fuck yes, take that dick, whore." 

"Look at the cock-sucking lips on that bitch."

"God, what I wouldn’t give to fuck that hole."

Sam lets the surrounding voices wash over him, secure in the knowledge that no-one else is touching Dean, not tonight. That tomorrow when Dean's throat is gravel rough, when his lips are smudged red and swollen, and finger-shaped bruises decorate his skin, Sam will be the one, _the only one_ , responsible. 

Sam slams his hips forward again, his balls slapping against Dean's drool-covered chin. He's not gonna be able to hold off much longer, not with the way his brother's hips are punching up desperately into the air and his cow eyes are staring up at Sam, watery and begging. 

It's only a minute later when Sam’s orgasm roars through him, and he doesn't even attempt to stave it off, or give Dean any warning. He throws his head back and buries his dick so far down his brother's throat that Dean's only option is to swallow Sam's spunk or choke on it. Sam's dick is still pulsing come when he eventually slips out of Dean's mouth. He makes sure to paint Dean's cheeks with the last creamy ribbons as Dean gasps and splutters, chest heaving with a mix of exertion and lack of oxygen.

Sam, his own pulse racing beneath his cool exterior, takes in his brother's disheveled appearance; the rude flush stretching across his cheeks and down his neck; the sweat shining across his collar bone, dripping down his chest; the mess of spunk and spit trickling from his lips, clinging to the model-sharp cut of his jaw.

The second that the trembling in Dean's shoulders begins to ease, Sam pushes his dick back in his brother's face. "Clean me up, sweetheart."

Dean doesn't hesitate, just licks his lips in anticipation, then attacks Sam's cock like he's starving for come. It's almost painful to have this much attention focused on his cock so soon after he came, but Dean's filthy-lipped enthusiasm is so deliciously obscene to watch that it's worth the initial discomfort. Dean tongue-washes Sam's dick methodically, licking every sensitive, twitching, inch before he moves down to Sam's balls, sucking them clean with rapturous moans until Sam finally shoves him off, pushing the sole of his boot against Dean's belly until he rocks back on his heels, reproach clear in his sullen pout and disappointed whimper. 

"Can't get enough of it can you?" Sam growls. "You'd suck on my balls all fucking day if I let you. Eat nothing but my spunk if you could. Just a come-hungry slut, aren't you baby?"

Dean says nothing, just pants open-mouthed at Sam's feet like an eager puppy, eyes bright with need, oblivious to everything and everyone around them.

Sam carefully tucks his cock back into his jeans, trying to hide the shudder that tears down his spine as the heavy denim slides against his junk, his skin over-sensitive and dick more hard than soft. "You want to come, baby?"

"Yes. Yes, please." Dean's voice is destroyed, nothing but a dried rasp. It's music to Sam's ears. 

"Well," Sam smirks, "The night's still young and I don't think you deserve it. Not yet." 

Dean's shoulders slump but Sam doesn't miss the way the hard outline of his dick twitches in his shorts, the material stained dark and soaked with so much pre-come it already looks like Dean's creamed himself.

"Gonna take you apart, baby." Sam promises, cupping Dean's face, his thumb smearing a fat bead of come into a cluster of freckles across his nose. "Gonna do it right here where everyone can see. Mark you up and push you right to the edge. Again and again."

A visible tremor ripples through Dean, rolls down his neck and out through his shoulders. His teeth clamping down into the abused swell of his bottom lip, harsh enough to draw blood. And just like that Sam needs to have Dean in his arms. Needs to touch the blistering heat of that glistening skin, feel the heady weight of his brother's submission. With an urgency that draws shocked murmurs and scuffling feet from the crowd pressed around them, Sam hauls Dean up, his hand clasped around the back of his neck, dragging him in for a kiss, violent and unforgiving. He sucks the blood from Dean's lips, licks the bitter taste of sweat and spunk from his tongue.

When they break apart Dean sways on his feet, and Sam drags in an unsteady breath. Fuck, he has no control where Dean is concerned. The things he wants to do to his big brother are filthy and perverse and unnatural. And he's so goddamn lucky that Dean wants it all just as badly.

"Gonna spread you over the bench," Sam gasps, trying to hide the desperation that's bleeding into his voice. "Gonna rip those shorts off you, tie you down and belt your pretty ass until you cry. Until you scream. Then, I'm gonna fuck you raw baby, fill you up with spunk until your slutty hole is gaping. And you're still not gonna come, not until you beg. Not until I think you deserve it."

Dean stumbles toward him almost dizzy with need. Drowning in heat and want and dark, consuming, desire. And Sam catches him. Holds him steady. Just like he always has. Just like he always will. 

 

 

Next Chapter - blood play


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